


Black And Blue

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caretaking, Eventual Smut, Healing, Injured Dean, Kissing It Better, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:32:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5892967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is injured. Cas kisses it better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black And Blue

The kitchen was silent except for the occasional long pulls on beer and the quiet winces of pain. Two broken figures leaned against the surfaces either side of the sink, too tired to even be lost in their own thoughts. They should be dressing wounds, bandaging ribs, at least showering, but they'd not made it that far yet. Just a moment to pause and regroup, that was all.

In true Winchester style, either would claim the other had taken the brunt of the fight, but this time round, Dean had had the hardest beating. He could say it was he job like he always did, because he was the big brother, but Sam would just retort that he didn't need looking out for and they'd be at a stand-off. An old, often replayed argument that would dance between them until the end of their hunting days, and probably long after.

So they comforted each other in the way they always didn't, by staring into space and remaining wordless.

A soft flutter told them they had company; Cas' lacklustre entrance had become an almost daily feature of their lives, and they acknowledged his arrival with a synchronised tipping of their bottles. He took in the way they curled their bodies into themselves and held back the frustrated sigh threatening to tumble out, knowing anything he had to say would be pointless.

Instead, he stepped forward and, without asking, placed two fingers to Sam's forehead. He watched silently as cuts healed, bruises yellowed before disappearing, and the bags under his eyes retreated just enough to spell 'tired' instead of 'broken'. Sam sighed out the relief he'd not realised he was holding on to quite so hard and turned his eyes expectantly to Dean, mumbling, “Thanks, Cas,” as he did.

Cas quirked an eyebrow at Dean when he finally met his eyes, a silent request. Sam never particularly objected to being healed but Dean always seemed to feel the need to hold onto his wounds, as though each little jolt of pain would absolve him of his sins. Dean stared right back for a moment then tipped the rest of his beer down his throat, bringing the bottle down on the counter with soft thud. Standing awkwardly from his semi-slouched position he nodded to Sam, mumbled a quick, “Night, Sammy.” and limped out of the room.

Both Sam and Cas watched him for a moment before Sam rolled his eyes and chugged back the last of his own beer. He patted Cas affectionately on the shoulder before saying his own goodnight, and stood expectantly until Cas nodded, turning on his heel to follow Dean to his room.

Dean's door lay wide open and Cas stepped straight through the doorway, closing the door softly behind him. Dean had made it as far as switching the bedside lamp on and was now trying to straighten back up slowly, holding onto his side.

Now it was Cas' turn give up the sigh, and Dean turned at the sound with the air of someone being admonished. “I didn't plan on getting my ass kicked, Cas.”

Cas said nothing, but walked toward the chair on the other side of the bed, shrugging out of his trench coat and tossing it over the back of it. Next went the tie which he discarded in a heap that fell to the floor. Shoes were kicked away, and he bent down to tug off his socks before turning back to Dean who'd turned ever so slightly to watch. His eyes took in every button undone, from the tight one at his neck and all the way down to the last one that gaped open the shirt fully. Pushing the shirt off of his shoulders he threw it behind him carelessly, eyes never leaving Dean's. Next went the soft dragging noise of his belt being unbuckled, and another button, and a zip being slowly dragged down. He shruck out of his pants until they pooled on the floor, standing before Dean in only his boxers. His eyes dropped momentarily to Dean's chest, where he could hear his heart beating a little faster, and when he raise them again his face split into a grin.

“Just-” Dean began and never finished, because Cas stepped forward to kiss him lightly. Dean instantly felt the split in his lip heal, and as he opened his mouth to Cas' tongue, he felt that stroke away the bite there from when he'd been thrown against a wall earlier.

“Better?” Cas asked with a not so innocent smirk on his face, and the chasing kiss he received in return seemed to be telling him: yes. Cas would happily kiss Dean all day. The feel of lips on lips, stubble on stubble, and knowing exactly where this could end up had him buzzing through every ounce of his being, both physical and non-physical.

Cas leaned into the kiss for a moment, content to let this to set the pace for what was left of the evening. He felt gentle fingers attempt to grab him by the waist; knuckles and joints heavily swollen and burst wouldn't allow Dean to get any kind of purchase in his grip. Cas' hands stilled him, and he brought first his right hand to his lips, soft kisses literally kissing better each of the tiny wounds there. Once he'd repeated this with Dean's left hand he paused, and Dean smiled down at his own hands in something like gratitude, before pulling Cas flush to him and kissing him sloppily.

Cas pulled back with a laugh, and slowly rolled the jacket from Dean's shoulders. His fingers slid beneath Dean's shirt to skim his chest as he undid his buttons, and that hit the floor the same way the jacket just had. The t shirt was more tricky; there was a gash in Dean's side, a couple of broken ribs, and bruises covered much of his chest. His arms were a canvas of scratches and more bruises, and it would have been much easier to just make the t shirt disappear. But last time they'd done this – last week? The week before? How often was Dean covered in injuries? - Dean admitted how much he liked Cas undressing him. And so, with gentle fingers running under the t shirt hem he lifted it slowly, slowly, as Dean stiffly raised his arms as far as he could and Cas tugged it over his head.

Cas took a moment to pause and look. Even black and blue, Dean was beautiful.

Dean leaned on Cas when he stepped out of his jeans, and they both looked down at the black and yellow swollen mess that was his left knee. Dean edged back onto the bed and Cas slipped off his shoes and socks before laying lightly beside him, propped up on one elbow. His fingers traced the scratches on Dean's arm, and when they disappeared, he leaned in, resting a hand on Dean's chest.

“I have begun think you like being injured, Dean.” There was no bite to his words, just a simple stating of facts. “That, or you enjoy this,” he added, a soft kiss just below Dean's jawline that took away a forming bruise.

“You think I intentionally get beat up so you can kiss me better?” There's indignance in Dean's voice but none in his eyes as Cas looks and shrugs lightly.

“I could always heal you the 'old-fashioned' way.” He raises two fingers to hover over Dean's forehead and laughs at the way he ducks out of his reach.

“This way's good,”

“Then. May I continue?”

Dean swallows and nods, anticipation tingling through him so much it is practically visible. No one gets to see him vulnerable like this. No one but Cas. Cas seems to recognise this for the gift of openness that it is.

Shifting to brace himself on his arms to hover over Dean without leaning into him, Cas takes a moment to appreciate the view. His eyes trail down Dean's chest, taking it all in and frowning at every wound. First he presses a kiss to the middle of the gash that sweeps up Dean's side, then he licks along its length, smirking into Dean's skin as he feels him gasp a little beneath his lips. Bruised ribs are kissed and licked back to wholeness, and colour is restored. Scratches across his chest and other arm receive the same treatment, and he knows the moment Dean feels more whole, at least from his torso and up, because his hands start to trace random patterns across Cas' back.

Shifting lower, he smirks up at the intake of breath, intentionally avoiding the very obvious tenting in Dean's boxers, and instead moving down to his thigh. Turning it out slightly, he breathes very softly over a graze, following it with his lips, loving the contented little sigh Dean lets out unintentionally. He moves over to the horrible swelling that is his knee and pauses. Where to start?

Deciding on a light kiss at the back of the knee first, he cradles Dean's leg to stop it jerking away from his touch. Soft kisses cover his whole knee with precision, not missing a single patch of skin. Another noise escapes from the back of Dean's throat as the knee returns to its normal size and the last traces of bruises disappear.

Now that his body is healed, Dean reaches for Cas to lay on top of him, hands skimming down to line his hips to his. Cas goes willingly, his mouth finding Dean's and his fingers playing in the hair at the back of his neck as he gently rocks into him.

“You know I haven't finished yet,” Cas says, slowly and in stages; why interrupt kisses with words?

He feels Dean shiver beneath him and nod slightly.

“Then. May I continue?” he asks again as he pauses over him, eyes seeking out permission. There is another, tiny nod in response.

Dean closes his eyes. He loves this part.

Cas kisses his forehead once, twice. Kisses each eye gently. His nose, his cheeks, his chin. His tongue flicks out along his jawline all the way up one side, a small nibble on his earlobe and then more kisses, more tongue makes its way back to repeat on the other side. Kisses on his neck; Cas had to know that that alone made him come undone every time he did it.

Shoulders. Forearms. Biceps. Elbows. Wrists. Every inch of him was kissed, worshipped better. Every time he wondered how long he could take it before it all got too much and he had to stop, beg for something more.

A soft bite on his peck, a gentle graze on a nipple, and Dean finds himself even more slack. He's liquid beneath Cas' hands and lips and does not care at all. He feels Cas' stubble across his stomach and twitches in response. Cas noses along the soft line of hair and places a quick kiss on the rapidly-spreading damp patch in Dean's boxers. Dean mumbles to himself and involuntarily rolls his hips.

Cas presses a smile into his stomach and continues his kisses. Over hips, whilst gentle hands push Dean's legs part, so the kisses can continue their trail down inner thighs, and it's here that Dean can't hold on anymore. He clasps at Cas' shoulders and pulls him up to crash down on top of him, a harsh breath followed by deep, languid kisses and wandering hands.

Dean's pushing at Cas' boxers now, and Cas is quick to remove them and help Dean out of his own. They both groan as they spring free, and Cas wraps a warm hand around them both as their legs tangle. He tilts his head up and leans back into the kiss, eyes never leaving Dean's as his hand picks up speed. The only sounds are skin on skin and the soft moans that escape them both.

The pace picks up. Tongues slide dirtier, breaths pants faster, the burn that builds in their stomachs grows, ever the furnace. And if they both come at the same time, the other's name on their lips like it is a benediction, then so what?

In the aftermath, Cas tucks his head beneath Dean's, wrapped up tight in his arms. Dean absently continues drawing his random patterns into Cas' back.

“Will you stay?” he asks quietly, kissing Cas' hair. Cas turns his head to place a kiss just under Dean's jaw, then lays back down, feeling the tension and the holding of breath.

“Because you were injured?”

“No. Just because.”

If Dean sounds hesitant each time he asks, Cas will just have to keep reassuring him. Pressing his face into his shoulder and curling a hand protectively around his waist, he mumbles into his skin, “Of course, Dean.”

Soft sighs are replaced by soft snores, filling the otherwise silent room.

Cas smiles, relishing in the relaxed way Dean sleeps. Where else would he want to be?

  
  
  



End file.
